


Nearly Thirty Years

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Guilt, Minor Violence, Regret, Series 10 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Pearce deals with the aftermath of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nearly Thirty Years

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Spooks Series 10.

“You can’t keep him here.” Erin’s voice broke through Harry’s thoughts.

“I know.” Harry kept his gaze focused on the figure on the other side of the glass.

“Do you?” She’d read the file. “He’s not your son, Harry.”

“I know.” He repeated. But for nearly thirty years that’s what he’d believed, and for almost four hours, Sasha had believed it as well. Harry had seen the lost look in the boy’s eyes when he’d said he’d read the file, seen something lingering there. If Harry had spoken to him then, what could have been?

What if he had brought them back to England with him?

What if Sasha had grown up as his son? Well, perhaps, things would never have come to this. None of it would have fallen apart like this. Harry shrugged his shoulders, trying to ease the strain that seemed to linger there most days. No use dwelling on it now.

“He killed Ruth.”

“Do you think I need to be reminded of that?”

“Perhaps.”

 _He didn’t mean it_. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Harry simply nodded and pushed the door open. The light fell upon the bruise on the boy’s cheek, where Harry had hit him. He could still feel Sasha trembling beneath him, pressed to the table. Had he really believed Harry could shoot him then? Had he?

Sasha shifted, not looking straight at him. His wrists were cuffed behind the chair. A bandage covered his leg wound. He looked as exhausted as Harry felt.

“Take the cuffs off.” Harry said quietly to the guard. The man looked at him questioningly, but obeyed. Sasha touched his wrists briefly before dropping his hands under the table out of sight.

“How’s the leg?” Harry pulled out the chair.

“It’s nothing.” Sasha said shortly.

Harry sighed, sitting down across from him. _He’s just a boy after all_ , he thought.

“What am I going to do with you?” He mused aloud.

Sasha looked up then. “What do you mean?”

“You killed the Home Secretary’s security advisor. “ Harry said bluntly. “There’s a very good chance you could be sent to prison for that.”

Sasha flinched.

“Your mother,”

“Can we not talk of her?” Sasha’s words were barely audible.

“Your father wants you returned to him as soon as possible.”

“I,” Sasha swallowed. “I don’t want to see him.”

“He’s your father.” Harry said quietly.

“He killed her.” Sasha shouted.

Harry held up a hand and the boy stilled, knowing there were people watching on the other side of the glass.

“Please.” Sasha licked his lips. “Don’t send me back to him.”

“Then what do you propose to do?” Harry folded his hands. “Your options are very limited right now. If you aren’t sent to prison, you have two choices. Return to Russia with your father, or,” he paused, taking in every aspect of the boy right now. He’d never do it. “Defect.”

“What?”

“Tell us everything you know about your father’s organization and the British government would offer you a new life.”

“You want me to betray my father, my country.” Sasha’s lip curled.

“You could always go back to Russia with him instead.” Harry stood. “That is, if you don’t go to prison.” He didn’t want that to happen, but he wasn’t above using it to get Sasha to return.

“Why aren’t you simply sending me to prison?” Sasha looked at him then, waiting for an answer.

“We haven’t decided.” Harry said. It was true. They were still weighing the pros and cons. They were; it wasn’t up to him. If it was up to him, Sasha would already be in the first flight back to Russia.

Sasha ducked his head. “When will you decide?”

“We’ll let you know.” Harry closed the door and leaned against it. What the devil was he doing? He could have handed this off to one of the others. Erin was perfectly capable. He should do that. Tomorrow, perhaps, yes, tomorrow. That’s what he would do.

* * *

“Could he be an asset?” Towers asked, flipping through the file with disinterested fingers. He wanted this mess cleared up. It had all gone wrong.

“How?” Harry’s head ached. He wanted this day to be done. This week. This month. It had been a week since Ruth’s death. Time was supposed to make things easier. It wasn’t.

“He could work in the Russian embassy and report back to us.” The prime minister folded his hands together and looked at Harry.

“He wouldn’t.” They were mad if they thought they could turn Sasha as easily as that. But then, that’s what they did. Why was this young man so different from all the others they had turned?

“Prison then.” Towers announced finally.

“For what exactly?”

“He stabbed Ruth Evershed in case you’d forgotten.”

“I could hardly forget. I was there.” Harry said crisply.

“So you were.” The prime minister turned to him. “What was your take on this?”

“He didn’t mean to.” Of this Harry was certain. Sasha had been intending to kill him, never Ruth. The look in his eyes after it had happened. The way he had lain there in the grass, silently, watching them as they tried to save her. Harry had only become aware of the boy afterwards when they had taken Ruth away on the stretcher. Then, only then, had Harry remembered Sasha had been shot. He lay there in the grass, watching him silently.

“Accidental death.” The prime minister sighed. “If we did put him in prison for that, his father would create a stink.”

“And rightly so.”

* * *

There was a message waiting from the Ilya Gavrik when Harry returned to his office. Harry sighed and called him back.

"I want to see my son." Gavrik sounded remarkably calm for a man who had strangled his wife only a week ago.

"There's a bit of trouble with that." Harry remarked. "You see, he doesn't want to see you."

Silence. "I don't believe you."

"Well, that's up to you of course. I can arrange a meeting if that’s what you want.”

“Of course it is.”

“Right then, I’ll send a car tomorrow.”

“Tonight, Harry.” Gavrik insisted. “I want to see Sasha tonight.”

“Very well.”

 * * *

“What are you trying to do?” Gavrik asked as Harry led him down the hallway.

“Do?”

“With my son?”

“I’m trying to keep him out of prison.” Harry said curtly, opening the door to the observation room. Gavrik stepped inside and Sasha looked up in surprise.

He glared at Harry. "Why are you doing this? I told you I didn't want to see him."

"I thought that was a lie." Gavrik murmured. "Sasha, my son, it’s all right." He reached for him.

"No." Sasha reared up, knocking the chair over, backing away from him.

“Sasha, what is this?” Gavrik looked puzzled. “Harry, you have to release him at once. I need to take him home.”

"I can't go back there." Sasha shook his head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” Gavrik looked from his son to Harry. “Explain this.”

Sasha faced his father. “I’m not returning to Russia with you.”

"You would rather stay here?" The distaste was evident in Gavrik'a voice.

"Yes." Sasha's chin came up a fraction. "That is what I want."

Gavrik gazed at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "Then for now, I will allow you to do so."

He walked out the door past Harry.

"Why did you bring him here?” Sasha ground out. “I told you I didn't want to see him."

"He had a right to say goodbye."

"What of my rights?" Sasha demanded.

"When you have served your country as long as he has, then your rights will be valued as much." Harry left, following Gavrik. "What did you mean you'd allow it?"

The man turned back. "He's my son, Harry. I won't lose him forever."

Harry watched the man stride down the hall before returning the room. Sasha was pacing.

“I wanted nothing more to do with him, yet you brought him here. Why?"

“I already told you. He had a right to say goodbye.”

“You,” Sasha began.

“Shut up.” Harry said brusquely. His temper had frayed quite enough for one day.

Sasha stared at him.

“We’ve done it your way, and it hasn’t worked. There’s a good chance you could still go to prison for the murder of a British official, so unless you want to spend the remainder of your natural life locked away, I suggest you keep quiet and do as you’re told. Do I make myself clear?”

Sasha murmured something inaudible.

“Speak up.” Harry ordered.

The boy glared at him. “First you want me to shut up, the next you want me to speak. Which is it?”

Harry just stared at him, until he started to chuckle wearily. “Fair enough.” He was so tired. He wanted to sleep for years, but that wouldn’t solve this problem.

“I said I understood.”

“Good.” Harry nodded. “So you don’t want to go to prison, and you don’t want to go back to Russia, which means tomorrow I am going to send in an agent to record your statement and we’re going to start going over what you know.”

Sasha studied his hands.

“Good.” Harry nodded again.

 * * *

They kept going over the matter, trying to decide what to do. Towers was intent on getting whatever they could out of Sasha, without damaging their relationship with Russia any further.

“What makes you think it isn’t damaged irrevocably already?” Harry stared out the window.

Towers shrugged. “Perhaps it is. But if it can be mended, that’s what we have to do. The thing is though, Harry, the Americans want to get their hands on him as well."

"What for?"

"Jim Coaver’s laptop was found in his hotel room, smashed to bits. They'd like to ask him a few questions about that."

Harry sighed. He should have had somebody take care of that before now.

"Things aren't looking good for your boy, Harry."

"He's not my boy." He said it matter-of-factly now. It was a matter of record. It was a simple fact. Nothing to do with him.

"What do you propose we do with him then?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

* * *

It had been a very long day and Harry had had enough. It was time to try a new approach. He made a decision abruptly.

"You're coming home with me." Harry stood, collecting his files.

“You can’t be serious.” Sasha stared at him incredulously.

“Why would I joke at this point in time?” Harry said tiredly.

"I don't want to."

"This isn't a matter of wanting." Harry looked at him. "Would you rather spend another night in a holding cell?"

"Yes." Sasha said flatly.

"Very well."

Harry watched him being led away down the hall before continuing to the elevators.

It shouldn't have stung, but it did. After all these years, emotions still clung on, sinking their claws into him.

'He's not my boy,' but he might as well have been. He'd helped make Sasha all the same, with all the lies that had passed between Elena and himself over the years.

* * * 

The next morning when Harry arrived, Erin came to his office immediately.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but we had a spot of trouble last night.”

"What?"

"Someone turned off the cameras last night and gave Sasha a beating." She nodded at the observation room. "There wasn't a guard on the door. It could have been anyone with access."

"Right. And if he knew, he wouldn't tell you who it was." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Hasn't spoken a word."

Harry nodded. "Right." He opened the door and went in.

Sasha held himself stiffly. Another bruise was spreading over the mottled one that hadn’t yet faded. His eye was blackened, his lips puffy and split. From the way he was sitting, Harry judged his ribs were possibly bruised as well.

"I'm so sorry." Harry set down the file he’d been carrying, resting his hands on the back of his chair.

"You mean you didn't send them?"

"Do you think me capable of that?" Harry demanded. He felt cold all over.

Sasha shrugged, and winced. "To persuade me to come home with you, maybe."

Harry scooped up the file. "If you really believe that, I'm sending you back to Russia on the next flight."

"No!" Sasha stood, pushing himself up stiffly.

"Who did this to you?"

"I don't know."

"Not good enough." Harry had one hand on the door.

"Please, Harry,"

He paused. "Why don't you want to go back?"

"Russia was my life. But it was my mother’s too, and now, I don't know if that was good." Sasha stared at his hands. “Or why she…or anything.”

Harry nodded. That he could understand all too well.

"I'll have a doctor take a look at you." He went out.

* * *

Harry watched as the doctor inspected Sasha’s ribs. “I’m taking Sasha home with me tonight.”

“Do you think that wise?”

“I’m having the doctor fit him with a tracker.” Harry shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“That isn’t,” Erin hesitated. "This is a bad idea, Harry. After Lucas,"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't thinking of Lucas. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“If you say.” Erin crossed her arms and waited, eyes on the doctor.

Harry thought about what she’d said. “How do you know about that?”

“I read the file.” She glanced at him. “I like to know what I’m getting into.”

“Don’t we all?” Harry murmured.

* * *

The afternoon passed slowly. Harry had gone through paperwork, which would have been dull if hadn’t been for the subject matter. The file label stared blankly up at him. _Ruth Evershed_. He sat there at his desk far too long simply staring into space.

That evening Sasha made no objection when Harry told he was going with him. He was silent as Harry collected his things and they went down to the car. He remained silent during the drive. _Am I making a terrible mistake?_ Harry asked himself. This boy had wanted to kill him after all.

Would this all end in Sasha finally going back to Russia? Could he forgive his father for killing the mother he loved so deeply?

 _Can you forgive a thing like that?_ Somehow Harry didn't blame the boy for Ruth's death. He wouldn't have killed her if Ruth hasn't tried to protect Harry. The certainty was there nestled neatly amongst the doubts. Harry sighed. He could feel Sasha looking at him.

The drive was very long indeed.

 * * *

Harry switched on the lights. "Up the stairs, second bedroom on the left."

Sasha went without a word. Harry went into the kitchen and inspected the contents of his refrigerator. Was the boy hungry? He put the kettle on and went upstairs.

Sasha was standing by the window, gazing out at the rainy night.

"Are you hungry?" Harry asked from the doorway.

"No."

Well, at least he had asked. "Shower’s down the hall. There are towels in the cupboard. Goodnight."

Harry returned to the kitchen and made his tea while ordering a takeaway. It would be there whenever Sasha decided to eat. As he did he heard the shower start.

_What the hell am I doing?_

 * * *

There was a window in the bathroom. Sasha debated how quickly he could be gone before Harry noticed. Instead he got undressed slowly, wincing at his ribs. His face still looked terrible. He wondered what Harry’s neighbors thought, this man bringing home a rough, bruised looking young man. Or did they not even notice?

He stepped under the hot water and closed his eyes. Why was Harry doing this?

* * *

Harry was at his laptop drinking his tea when Sasha entered the room. He wore a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His damp hair and bare feet made him look even younger.

"May I have a cup?" he nodded at Harry's mug.

"Of course." Harry stood.

"I can make it."

"It's no trouble."

Reluctantly the boy stood back. He looked around the kitchen cautiously. "No family?"

"Divorced. My children are grown." He added milk and handed him the cup.

"Do they know what you do?"

"No." Harry returned to his seat.

"Would you have told me?"

That was trickier. Harry considered. "No."

Sasha took a sip, waiting for more.

"Would you have wanted to know?"

"I don't know. I always have. Sometimes I think it would have been nice not to. But in the end I think I'd rather know the truth." His eyes met Harry's. "What did you think when you found me in your flat?"

"I thought, how glad I am to finally see him." Harry said simply.

"That was when you thought," Sasha cut himself off abruptly.

"That you were my son, yes. It's hard to wipe away nearly thirty years of believing something."

There was a moment of silence. Sasha stared down at the mug. "When I read that file, it was like I didn't know who I was. And when you threatened to shoot me,"

 _He wasn't accusing_ , Harry noted. More as though Sasha was merely stating a fact.

"I didn't recognize my mother at all." Sasha swallowed hoarsely. "Thank you for that." He met Harry's gaze steadily. "Thank you for showing me the truth, even if I hate you for it."

"I'm sorry." Harry murmured. "If your parents had only left you in Russia."

Sasha shrugged. "I always wanted to see England. My mother," He stopped. "I'm going to bed."

"Goodnight."

The boy ducked his head at him and went.

Harry sat there, watching the rain fall and wondering what to do next.

 * * *

In the morning he was woken by his phone.

"Harry Pearce."

"Sir, we have him."

"Who?" Harry sat up.

"Sasha Gavrik."

"What?"

"Tagged him four blocks away from your residence. Should we take him in?"

"No, bring him here." Harry rang off. Why had the boy run after last night? He wrapped his robe around him and went downstairs to make tea.

Not ten minutes later there was a rap at the door. Harry opened. Two agents held Sasha's arms behind him. The third nodded at Harry.

"You can let him go." Harry said.

"If you're sure, sir. He put up a bit of a struggle."

"I'm sure." Harry said crisply.

The minute the men released him Sasha brushed past Harry into the house. He dismissed the men and closed the door.

“You tracked me.” Sasha shook with rage.

“Yes.” There was no point in denying it. “I could say it was for your own good, but you’re not likely to believe that, are you?”

“Why?” Sasha demanded.

“Why?”

“Why did you send them after me?” Abruptly, the anger had subsided, leaving Sasha exhausted.

 _He’s too young for this_ , Harry thought, but he knew he had been younger than Sasha when he had begun.

“All I was doing was going for a run.” Sasha’s shoulders hunched.

“Did you tell them that?”

“They laughed.”

“Did you run from them?”

Sasha hesitated. “I thought they were going to take me away.”

_I’m too old for this. I’m too old and he’s too young._

“Go shower.” Harry murmured and went to take the kettle off.

* * * 

He took Sasha to the office with him to continue his debriefing.

Erin came over to him as soon as he was seated at his desk. “I heard you had a little incident this morning.”

“He went for a jog, that’s all.”

“Really.”

Harry ignored her. “What am I going to do with him, Erin?”

“You should send him home.”

“To Russia?”

“His parents lied to him. He’ll have to come to terms with that sooner or later. We all do.”

“And what of his father killing his mother?”

“That’s a little harder to deal with.” Erin admitted. “There’s no guidebook here, Harry. If you’re going to keep him here at the office, have him talk to someone.”

“Do you think he would?”

“I think he needs to. Even if he doesn’t want to. And we need to know what he’s thinking, how he’s dealing with all this. Or whether he’s going to snap and try to kill us all.”

“Well, thank you for your honesty.”

“Any time.” She turned to go.

“I meant that.” Harry said.

“I know.” Erin smiled.

* * *

Colin Travers was brought in to help with the debriefing and assembling the information that Sasha was turning over. He spent the better part of the afternoon questioning him.

Harry ushered him into his office when he was done for the day.

“How’s he doing?”

“Some bits he’s very helpful with, and then some sections he either knows next to nothing or he’s a remarkable liar. We need to ascertain which it is.”

Harry nodded. It could very well be either one.

“I do think he’s an intelligent young man who could be very useful. You never know.”

“What, bring him over? They’d never trust him upstairs.” Would he ever trust Sasha completely? Could he?

“Do they any of us?” Travers asked, smiling.

He had a point.

* * *

Harry entered the room the interview room. Sasha was just sitting there at the table, staring at the cup of coffee he held.

“Go get some fresh air. Go for a walk. Meet me in the park at five.”

Sasha hesitated. “Are you sure?” As though he thought Harry would change his mind and have him hauled back.

“Go.”

Sasha went, grabbing his jacket. Harry watched him go. It was entirely possible he would never see Sasha again.

“Is this a test?” Erin came up behind him.

“Perhaps.”

Erin nodded to herself.

* * *

At five, Harry strolled across the street and found Sasha standing under a tree, eyes locked on the doors. He straightened up and shoved his hands in his pockets, squinting at Harry.

“Now what?”

“Now we go back to my house, unless you’d rather go out to dinner.” What the devil would they talk about?

“For how long?”

“Until they decide.”

“They?” Sasha kept his hands in his pockets, head down. “Not you?”

“I have input. They decide.” Harry nodded at the car.

“House then.” Sasha slid in.

* * *

At the house Harry opened a pair of beers and handed one to Sasha who accepted it gratefully.

“I wasn’t sure you’d allow me.” He commented. “You look at me sometimes as though I’m still a small boy.”

“Do I?" Harry turned back to the pan. He hadn’t thought that was noticeable.

“Would you have told your family about me?” Sasha leaned against the kitchen wall, watching him.

_Always the hard questions, never simple._

“I’m not sure. I think at one point I imagined you here, with us, but, that was a very long time ago, Sasha. A life that never was.”

“A life she would have let happen.”

Harry hesitated. What was he supposed to say here? There was nothing right in the way Sasha had been raised and now he would have to sort out the truth of his parents from the lies. Harry could only do so much.

Sasha set his beer down. “I’m going for a walk.”

Harry kept his back turned. “Should be ready in half an hour.”

He didn’t check the clock. He kept the time by the kitchen timer, by the water bubbling as the pasta cooked. He cut up peppers and onions, all too aware of the sharpness of the blade in his hands.

When he heard the front door open again, Harry allowed himself a long sip of beer.

“It’s raining,” he observed when Sasha came in with drops still on his hair.

“Yes.” Sasha shook out his coat and hung it up.

“It’ll be winter soon.” It was the most mundane of comments. Harry thought of Christmas and felt like a fool. _You can’t build something out of this wreckage. This boy is dangerous. Somehow he makes you want things, Harry. Things you never had. Things you never did. Things that were different than the life you chose._

He fixed them each a plate and carried them over to the kitchen table. “We need to talk about your future.”

“What of my future?”

“What would you like to do, if you could do anything?”

"I could get a job. As a translator." Sasha finally sat down at the table. "I can work. I could work security."

“But what would you like to do?” Harry pressed. “What do you want, Sasha?”

“I don’t know. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. That feels very strange.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I think sometimes I would like to simply disappear.”

Harry knew that feeling all too well. "It may not be that simple.” He hesitated, and then, “The Americans want to know why you had Jim Coaver’s laptop in your hotel room."

"You didn't tell them I stole it from you?" Sasha hid his surprise marginally well.

"No." Harry took a sip of beer. The pasta was getting cold, but he wasn’t hungry any more. He wasn’t hungry most of the time these days.

"Why?"

"One, that would be admitting we took it from them in the first place. Two, it's none of their business."

"Why don't you just say I stole it from them? That would solve all your problems."

"I'm not turning you over to the Americans."

"Why not?"

"Because, I owe it to your mother." Harry stated.

Sasha pressed his lips together. “How can you owe her anything after what she did?”

“Life is far more complicated than we would like to be.” Harry nodded at him. “Now eat.”

Sasha muttered something in Russian, but he picked up his fork.

* * *

Sasha laid awake in bed, listening to the silence of the house around him. How strange it was to sleep under Harry Pearce’s roof.

They thought he was lying. Sasha could tell. What did it matter, any of it? They were never going to trust him. And Harry? Sasha still felt unsettled, like the moment he had read the man’s name on the file was still replaying. _He’s not my father_ , Sasha reminded himself. But he could have been so easily. That was the unsettling thing. In those four hours he had accepted it. Tried to make sense of it, raged against it, but ultimately accepted it.  
And now?

Now he was the son of a liar, a traitor…and a man who would kill his own wife for those betrayals. What was he supposed to do?

Half the information he gave them was false. He couldn’t completely betray his father even if he could never forgive him. The rest, he only remembered bits and pieces. He was only part of a security detail after all. He wasn’t a spy. Not yet.

He had nothing now. What was Russia to him now? His future? His father? He couldn’t look at the man without seeing his mother die all over again.

He would stay in England and try to understand why his mother would do this. Why his life had been sheltered in the shadow of a lie all these years.

And Harry? It always came back to Harry no matter how much Sasha wanted to shy away. What was he to make of this man who nearly was his father, who had believed he was for years? Was this why he felt so abandoned? By a man who had only believed he had a claim?

They were going to watch him no matter where he went. How could he disappear?

He closed his eyes, but it didn’t matter. The darkness was still there.

* * * 

The next morning Harry left Sasha with Colin to continue on debriefing, while he on to speak with the Home Secretary yet again.

“This is getting to be a habit.” Harry remarked.

Towers sighed.

“We have the American ambassador visiting. We need it to look like the talks with Russia are still going well. We want to have Sasha Gavrik present at the meetings.”

“What?” Harry looked incredulous.

“He’s the son of the Russian State Minister. It will look good, Harry.”

“It will look like we’ve returned to the feudal tradition of fostering our enemy’s children in return for their promises of peace.”

“We have to do something with him, Harry. What do you propose?”

He wanted to say _let him go_ , but was that the best thing for Sasha? Or did he merely want it to be?

“Turn him loose.”

“No.” Towers shook his head.

“Why not?”

“He could still be useful. And as long as someone’s useful, Harry, we keep them.”

* * *

To his credit, Sasha looked as aghast as Harry felt when they’d suggested it to him.

“Why do they want me?” Sasha asked.

“Because you’re the only Russian national we have at the moment, and it looks good to have you present at the table.”

Sasha leaned in, studying him. “You don’t want me there.”

“I don’t think your presence is necessary.” Harry deflected out of habit.

Sasha nodded, then, “I’ll do it.”

“Why?”

“I like to know what’s going on.”

* * *

The meeting went smoothly. Sasha certainly looked good at the table, Harry had to admit. He paid attention, but never looked worried or showed concern no matter what topic was on the table.

 _He's good at this_ , thought Harry. For the first time he could see why Elena had done what she had. For a spy she was without a doubt, a consummate professional. He simply couldn't imagine doing that to your child. He never would have.

Yet by leaving Sasha in her care, that was what he had done. In his own way he was just as responsible. When it came down to it. He had still believed that Sasha was his.

He still felt responsible. That wasn't going away.

Harry got a cup of tea at the break. His hands were shaky. Just a tremor, but it was there.

Sasha sipped his coffee coolly, calmly.

It was a long afternoon.

* * *

“And you, Mr. Gavrik, what do you have to say about all this?” The American ambassador glanced at Sasha curiously after the Home Secretary was done speaking.

 _This is it_ , thought Harry, _this is when he pays us back._ He couldn’t blame Sasha for it.

Sasha shifted in his seat. “I think this will be good for Russia, and Britain. It will make both of our countries stronger, and ultimately that’s what we seek. A strong peace.”

“A strong peace, I like that.” Towers nodded approvingly.

 * * *

Afterward Towers commended Sasha briefly before nodding at Harry and leaving.

Sasha watched him go. "Now what?"

"I don't know." Harry gazed at him. "If they brought you in," He hesitated.

"They’d be doing that to watch me."

At least he was clever.

"They're doing it because they think you're useful."

"Is that good," Sasha squinted at Harry. "Or would it be better if they thought I were useless?"

"Probably." Harry murmured.

“You did well in there.” Harry observed.

“It’s not difficult to tell people what they want to hear.” Sasha glanced at Harry, then away.

 _You get that from your mother._ Harry knew they were both thinking it. “But why you did it, that’s the thing that matters, Sasha.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” Harry touched his shoulder lightly; the barest of touches, then moved his hand away. A strong peace, was it possible? If he lost Sasha, the world would be a poorer place. He was capable of so much. _And now, I know I’m getting old_ , Harry told himself. _Sentimental old man._ He pulled the collar of his coat closer against the cold and looked at the young man he had always believed to be his.

“You thought I was your son.” Sasha stated. “That day you met me on the steps. That’s why you came.”

“Yes.” Harry admitted. What harm did it do now? Nearly thirty years and four hour ago. What could it possibly matter now after all those wasted years?

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Your mother didn’t want me to.” It seemed simple enough at the time, but oh, what could he possibly have said that wouldn’t make those eyes turn away in fear and disillusionment.

“What did _you_ want?”

Sasha’s bluntness silenced Harry. He considered the matter carefully. All too aware of the dangers of the path he was walking upon.

“If it had simply been my choice, I would have told you.” He said at last.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I told you, your mother,”

“My mother.” Sasha cradled his head in his hands. “My mother has…” He sighed. “My mother is dead.” There was a note of finality to his words.

“You still have your father.” Harry said quietly.

Sasha shrugged. “I can’t see him. Not now. My mother...everything she did was for Russia. The same with my father. But if he loved me, he never would have killed her."

"Maybe he killed her because he loved you." Harry pointed out.

Sasha just looked at him. "No. My mother did terrible things, but she's still my mother. Him..." He shook his head. He ran a hand through his hair. “I need to go for a walk. Is that permitted?”

“Yes.”

Sasha nodded at him. “See you back at the house?”

Harry nodded and smiled slightly, even if he knew better. He watched Sasha walk away down the pavement before getting into his car.

 * * *

It was two hours before he got the call.

“He’s dug out his tracker, Harry.” Erin sighed. “I’m sorry, but we’ve lost him.”

“I know.” He gazed out at the gloom of the November night and wondered if he would ever see Sasha again.


End file.
